


Their Majesties Secret Service

by MacandLacy



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Band as Family, Gen, Humor, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-05-13 06:07:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacandLacy/pseuds/MacandLacy
Summary: “The name is Mercury, Freddie Mercury.”Queen appears to be popular rock band, touring the world.  In fact, they are deep undercover agents for Her Majesties Secret Service (MI6).Elements from 007 James Bond, “I Spy”, and “The Man from U.N.C.L.E”.





	1. It's a Spy life....

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, VASTLY different backgrounds for each of the boys. 
> 
> Check out the end notes for links about each of the American 1960’s TV series I drew upon for inspiration and how I picture each character.

Chapter One: Its a Spy Life

PART ONE

Rodion Misahovick Petrenko was born in Moscow to parents who were first chair musicians with the Russian State Symphony Orchestra. They miraculously managed to escape to West Germany while under the guise of a family vacation in East Germany and then made their way to England. Unfortunately, his parents were killed in a car accident less than six months later under mysterious circumstances. Their seven-year-old son, already fluent in four languages and showing musical aptitude, was quickly and quietly placed with a couple who worked as agents for the British secret service. At age seven, he had seen and experienced more than most adults, and understood perfectly well what he was going to do when he was older. To go with his new identity, he was given a new name as well: Roger Meadows Taylor. 

Farrokh Bulsara, a boy who could command a crowd with his acting and singing, and adapted to any culture or environment so easily – like a chameleon - attracted the attention of some very certain people at his school in India. His parents were overjoyed when their application to emigrate to England was somehow fast-track approved, and Farrokh was offered a place at a very elite boarding school that they had never heard of, but were nonetheless thrilled to send their son to. Farrokh adapted perfectly, just had been expected, excelling in acting and anything else that he put his mind to. He was also introduced to the world of government agencies, and he easily fit into any situation presented to him. And he kept up with his boxing and languages training. 

Brian Harold May was essentially born into the service; Harold May held a very important role in the British government while posing as humble worker, and he saw greatness in his son from Brian’s earliest age. May was not going to deliberately force his only child into any certain career path, but he wanted him to be ready just in case and insisted on Brian having extra tutoring in every available subject. When his father died in an accident that was never fully explained, Brian was taken under the wing of a family friend and the rigorous instruction in science and the arts continued. Brian happily accepted the academics, but did dislike the martial arts trainings. Still, he never questioned it; he had been brought up to follow orders.

John Richard Deacon was left an orphan when he was nine years old and taken in by his godfather, an officer with the British Secret Intelligence (MI6) and Special Operations Executive during World War II. His guardian’s real aptitudes, though, were mechanics and engineering, and John took to those subjects as well. John was quiet, easy to overlook, and painfully shy at times, but he was also was stubborn as Hell, had a ruthless streak to match anyone when necessary, and possessed a photographic and eidetic memory. His godfather knew early on that John had potential.

Perhaps it was inevitable that the four of them would one day meet; four young men who one way or the other had been groomed since childhood for very special occupations. But the meeting came sooner than expected, and for a very unusual reason.

*****  
*****  
It started as the brainchild of an MI6 agent, James Beach. In the late-1960’s there was not just a cold war but a cultural war as well between East and West. Beach specialized in undercover operations, and he saw how one of the few venues of access to the Iron Curtain and other areas of the world was through the arts. Unfortunately, the other side knew this as well, and the occasional classical musicians or artists allowed to travel were kept under the tightest security and observation…again, by both sides. 

But perhaps, there was another type of music that could provide a cover. Beach watched as the Beatles toured the world, were famous even behind the Iron Curtain, and granted access to places and people no ordinary person would be. It was a…unique…. opportunity, and Beach was never one to shy away from any opportunity. 

He consulted with an old friend, one who had served with British Special Forces and landed at Normandy. Now he was president of a music company, which was part of what gave Beach his idea. His friend had kept up his security clearance, and they had some long talks over a period of a few months. Yes, his friend thought it *could* work. Of course, it would take a great deal of background preparation for it to be plausible. Years, actually. And if it worked, it could turn into one of the most long-term deep cover operations that even MI6 had ever orchestrated. 

Hard work and patience had never deterred James Beach before.

Primarily, of course, it would hinge on the agents selected. Or rather, the young men whose lives would be changed forever.

In picking the agents, there could be no hint of any military affiliation, which eliminated students from military boarding schools. There were a number of young agents being groomed in other schools for government service, but this would require very special abilities, including the psychological background to endure the program. 

Most of all, they had to possess genuine musical skill.

After going through literal rooms of files, Beach and his team selected four candidates. Three of them already had private military training and undercover work; some of it extensive. The young age of one agent made Beach initially pause, but there was no denying the contents of his file, and his mentor trained only the very best. Plus, he was already being groomed for future leadership and this would be excellent training. Beach would personally deal with the fourth agent when the time came. That young man had been intended for a science and research track, but it would be adjusted.

Most importantly, of course, all of them were truly musicians, each a perfect piece of the puzzle. They would require extra training, of course, but that was easily arranged.

His friend studied the backgrounds and photos of the four young agents, and agreed that they could fit the profile he would create for them. They could – with proper instruction – be believable. 

And so, in the winter of 1970-71, James Beach arranged for meetings with each of the young men.

*****  
*****

“Mr. Bulsara,” Beach opened the door to his office, and the young man stood quickly and shook his hand.

“Sir,” he said, his voice quiet and respectful.

“Please, do come in.” Beach sat down at his desk and he watched how Bulsara took in the room in a single glance, obviously making note of every object. Beach was pleased at his careful surveillance. He opened the file on his desk mainly for show; he had memorized all its contents.

“Well, first, you are to be commended on a job well done,” Beach said, truly impressed at the results of Bulsara’s latest assignment.

“Thank you, Sir, but really, it was nothing,” Farrokh said modestly. He had infiltrated a suspected terrorist group at a nearby university, uncovering a plot to place explosives at various locations. 

“Nevertheless, it was a dangerous assignment, and you handled it well.” Beach closed the file. “You also receive first marks in the classes you took while undercover, and still maintained your own studies.”

“Leaning is enjoyable.” Farrokh answered. “Expect, of course when it isn’t and then ‘it’s a downright pain’.” His voice and demeaner completely changed with the last words, and Beach had to smile at the effortlessly undercover ability show that the young man had just displayed. It was just as Bulsara’s handlers said; the man could completely change personalities between words. 

Beach clasped his hands, considering. “Did you enjoy the classes in art and design you took while undercover?”

“Of course.”

“And I’ve read that you are quite the singer and pianist.”

This time Beach was fairly certain there was no absolutely no acting involved. “Music is a hobby, Sir, but yes, I do quite enjoy it. Though I really consider myself a rather mediocre pianist at best.”

Beach brushed the modestly aside; there was a great deal of testimony and reports in Bulsara’s file about his musical skills. “There is a possibility of a future assignment,” he said, “that requires all the skills that you have worked to perfect.” He leaned forward. “Mr. Bulsara, have you ever considered starting a rock band?”

*****  
*****

“No.”

Beach raised an eyebrow at the young blond man sitting across the desk from him.

“No, thank you, Sir,” Roger amended his words, but his flat tone remained the same.

“Why?” 

Roger’s entire body language remained impassive. “It is a waste of my skills,” he said.

Beach made a show of looking at the file on his desk. “No one denies your field skills, Taylor, but you have musical skills as well. It would be one thing if they were say, the violin, or cello.” Beach was not proud of himself for naming those particular instruments, but to the younger agent’s credit, there was not a flicker of emotion on Taylor’s face. “But you took up percussion, which is a vital piece of this plan.”

“I’m fairly certain that you have other agents who can hit things with sticks,” Roger answered blandly. “I have been trained for the field.”

“This would be field work in the extreme.”

“Mostly here in Britain.”

“Initially yes, but then world-wide if the plan is successful.”

“Whereas I have already completed field work on the continent. This could take years to implement *if* successful.”

“Taylor,” Beach looked at him sternly. The handlers had not understated the stubbornness of the young man. “I know what you have worked for, and no one denies your skills. But we need you for this. You are the logical choice given your field work, your background, and your musical talents. You have been trained for undercover field work, and that is what this shall be, make no mistake about that. Simply think of it as a very unique undercover assignment.”

“I rather think it is going to be a waste of time and assets,” Roger said bluntly, and Beach just smiled.

“Then ensure that it is not a waste.”

*****  
*****

The young man visibly paled. “Playing music? On a stage? In front of people?”

Beach hid his smile. “I’m told that that is what rock bands do, yes.”

“Sir,” John carefully chose his words. “I understand the nature of the operation, how unique it is, and how it could work. But I really do not think I am suited to be one of the agents.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I really don’t enjoy crowds.” 

“You will be the quiet one in the group.”

John shook his head. “I think I would be a liability. I am not the rock star type at all. How could it be convincing?”

Beach nodded in understanding. “It will require some work on your part,” he admitted honestly. “But the operation will be rolled out slowly; you will have some time to make adjustments.” He considered the young man. “This is a unique opportunity, John,” he said. “You fit the profile for your musical talents and your leadership. Bulsara is the senior agent in the field, but you are needed for logistics and technology.”

“I don’t sing.”

“That is already covered. The others will sing.”

The young man pursed his lips, obviously torn between personal feelings and duty. It was clear which would win. “If I must for the assignment,” he finally said.

“You may enjoy it.” Beach honestly hoped the lad would come to enjoy the assignment. He didn’t like Deacon acting like he was being sent to his death.

John shook his head. “If I must.”

*****  
*****

“Sir—“

“Brian.” Beach looked pointedly at the young man that he had helped to raise after his father’s death.

“Uncle Jim,” Brian amended. He looked down his at hands. “I really don’t know what to say.”

Beach nodded. “I know that you never thought you would be in the field, Brian, but this is a very unique opportunity.”

Brian sighed. “Yes, I can see that, but I really don’t think it makes sense for me. I have science training, not field training.”

“You will have time. The other three have field experience to varying degrees. All you need to do initially is focus on the music, which I know will not be difficult.” He smiled kindly. “You can now play your guitar as much as you like.”

The tall young man twisted his hands. “I do love music, yes,” he admitted. ‘But I still don’t see how I fit the profile to be a good field agent.”

Beach smiled. “Start growing your hair long.”

******************************************************************  
******************************************************************  
******************************************************************  
PART TWO

The operation was approved.

Step one was to create a suitable background, which meant each of them had to enroll in or transfer to assorted nearby colleges so they could meet as “students”. It was rather silly for Farrokh, who already had graduate honors in politics and geography, but he enjoyed the art and design classes that were picked to fit his future role as a flamboyant front man (he was also in the legal process of changing his name to suit the cover). Brian was able to continue work on his doctorate in astrophysics. John was able to easily continue his engineering studies, now focusing on electronics. Roger stuck to biology and added chemistry, but now his story was that he was studying to be a dentist; Beach had raised an eyebrow at that backstory, but decided it would do no harm and would in fact add interest. 

Though he suspected the agent had picked dentistry simply to be difficult.

By the spring of 1971, all young men were settled at their various colleges, their covers established. They also, of course, had met and been briefed. All were professional, and it turned out that Farrokh and Roger had trained together several times, shared some classes, and had an honest enough respect for each other. Brian and John shared science interests, even though Brian was rather intimidated by the younger man. All knew John was not to be trifled with, even though he was quiet as a mouse. 

Despite some grumbling from Roger (still convinced this was a waste of his skills), signs of future stage fright from John (he knew dozens of ways to disarm a person, but quaked at the idea of having to talk to them), worried looks from Brian (biting his nails from stress and missing his science books), and loud gestures from Farrokh (getting into character), their first meetings and briefings went well.

Their first musical rehearsing did not fare as well.

Beach’s friend had recruited a number of songwriters to prepare music for the group. Songs that all agreed were good and would appeal to young people. All the four agents had to do was learn them and begin to do “gigs” as a college band. The songs should have been the simplest part of this stage of the mission.

They were not.

“Utter crap,” Roger sneered.

“The lyrics make no sense at all,” Brian objected.

“This is written in the wrong timing,” John muttered.

“These songs will not do at all,” Freddie announced (his name change was official as far as the public record was concerned). The team leader looked at Beach. “Sir,” he said, trying to stay professional. “We have tried numerous times to play this….rubbish. I believe a primary school student wrote this song.”

“Who can’t count,” John added under his breath. 

“And can’t write,” Brian agreed.

“Crap,” Roger summed up.

Beach raised an eyebrow at the assembled team. “We hired the best professional songwriters,” he mildly protested, curious to see how the young team would respond.

“If this is the best, then end the operation now,” Roger said. “Waste of all our time.”

The director looked at the drummer/agent mildly. “Prove me wrong then,” he said. 

Freddie got a gleam in his eyes, accepting the challenge. He looked at his team and nodded. “Give us a few days, Sir,” he said.

The four agents went to the newly assigned rehearsing studio in the MI6 building. “What do you mean, give us a few days?” Roger demanded. “These so-called songs are beyond hope.”

“But they can give us some ideas,” Freddie argued. He looked at the other three agents. “Look, I know that aside from me, no one has a real background in this type of assignment, and that is fair. But our job is to be musicians. We agree this current stuff is rubbish, and we know what good music is. I say we write our own songs.”

“Of course, that would be so easy,” Roger sneered.

Brian sighed, trying to be a peacemaker. “Well, then let’s pick the best possible song we were given, and work on it. We know what’s wrong with it; I think we can fix it.” He looked through the sheet music and pulled one out. “This melody is actually not bad, aside from some fixes on the percussion.” He looked at John and Roger. “If you two work on that, then maybe Bulsara and I can look at the lyrics.”

“Mercury, darling. Freddie Mercury,” the singer/team leader corrected.

Brian blushed. “Right. I‘m sorry. Still sort of….new to this.”

Freddie smiled. “It’s alright. It will get easier, just keep repeating my new…my new name….every chance and it will become habit. John, dear,” he looked at the youngest agent. “I meant to tell you earlier, you did a wonderful job with the miserable music you were given. I know you and Roger can fix the percussion.”

As team leader, Freddie had memorized the files on his three team members even more thoroughly than they knew his file. He’d had long discussions with Beach, getting briefed on all he would need to know to lead them. He knew about Roger’s complicated past, John’s painful insecurity despite all his accomplishments, and how Brian had been thrown into the field when he had planned his whole life to be in the lab. They were all misfits, and he was the biggest one of them all.

Ah, what fun this could be.

“Alright then lads, to work,” he said cheerfully, taking a seat at the piano and gesturing for Brian to join him. John and Roger retreated to the drums and John picked up his bass. After about 20 minutes, they re-gathered and began tossing out their ideas.

An hour later, they were playing something that might actually be good.

*****  
*****

Summer 1971:

Their jobs – when not at school – was to work 24/7 on music. Freddie and Roger had led double lives basically since birth, and John had been practicing being undercover since he was a child. But it was all new for Brian, who had been focused all his life on only his studies, and was the worst liar in the world. “Try to look on it as homework, or a research project,” Freddie suggested. “You are being perfectly honest when you tell people you have to study.”

“That might work,” Brian agreed, still biting his finger nails. 

Freddie knew his team’s secrets, including Brian’s depression. He went out of his way to be cheerful and upbeat around the tall man, knowing that he couldn’t *fix* a mood, but did all he could to make Brian comfortable, such as learning the signs when to give him space and when company was welcome. Brian did truly love music, and Freddie kept him focused on that.

“Plus you are still getting your degree,” Freddie pointed out one day. “Nothing says you can’t still study your science no matter how successful we become.”

“Right,” Brian snorted, but he was smiling a little, so it was an okay mood. “I have no idea how to do field work, Freddie. What do I do; go up to someone and say ‘tell me your secrets’?”

Freddie chuckled. “No, you say ‘we know you have relatives in the old country’,” he said in a suddenly completely evil heavy accent that sent honest shivers down Brian’s long spine.

“It’s creepy how you do that,” Brian sighed.

“Tell you what,” Freddie said cheerfully. “You concentrate on the music right now; we have to establish ourselves as a true band first, and you are truly an amazing song writer and guitarist. Focus on that and your science, and the rest will come. No one is going to shove you into a field situation without warning. We’re a team.”

Brian sighed but nodded. “Alright,” he said, determined to apply his science perfection to music.

*****  
*****

Fall 1971:

With John, it was getting the young man to not have a panic attack at the thought of being on stage…in front of real people.

“They won’t hurt you, darling,” Freddie pointed out. After months of practice, it was time to see how they did in front of a real audience. Their performance was a mix of a few covers and some original songs. John didn’t usually drink, and neither did Brian, but both of them had taken shots of vodka for liquid courage.

“People will be looking at me,” John hissed. Freddie and Roger exchanged understanding looks; John had been raised and trained to fit into the crowd; to not stand out.

“They are looking at a new college band, dear,” Freddie tried to console him. “Not at John Robert Deacon. They have no idea who you are. Don’t worry; I will make sure most eyes are on me.”

Yeah, there was little doubt about that. Freddie was making his Queen debut in a one-piece outfit with full makeup and glitter. Come to think of it, they all had on makeup and at least a tiny bit of glitter. Glam band, indeed. 

Freddie had really taken off and run with the idea once they were given free reign by Beach and the record company. Many names had been suggested for the band, and the team had united behind their leader backing him even if they thought his suggest was pretty draft. They were young, smart (college degrees an interesting back story that the record company was planning already to promote), and good-looking, if Freddie did say so himself.

And their music was truly good. 

Something had truly clicked. It was a miracle, but a welcome one. All four truly were gifted musicians, and somehow, they really honestly had come up with good original songs. The president of the record company that was secretly already backing them knew the truth, but no one else there did, and ‘Queen’ was being seriously considered as a band to keep an eye on. They had already recorded some demo songs for documentation and the back story; now they just had to prove they could perform on stage as a group.

Freddie had been performing on and off a stage since he was a child. Roger had been acting life since he was five. Brian had never been on a formal stage, but at least he was feeling pretty good about the music. John was a nervous wreck since all of his undercover training had concentrated on *not* being noticed.

“I wanna go in the lab and invent something,” he was saying to Brian. “Like, an invisibility cloak. Yeah, something to keep me invisible.”

Well, Hell. Time for the senior agent to get serious. “Deacon,” Freddie snapped, and Thank God, John looked up at him. “Get it in gear. This is an assignment, no matter how strange. Understand?”

John, Bless him, took a deep breath, set his jaw and nodded. Brian had to blink as if someone had flipped a switch.

“Ready, Freddie,” John said, confidence suddenly high. Freddie nodded sharply at Roger who also effortlessly switched into on-duty mode, and Brian, who was nervous, but always ready to play music. 

“Let’s do this,” Freddie said confidentially. 

*****  
*****

Winter 1971:

They were either soulmates who would ride off into the sunset and have a dozen happy children together, or mortal enemies who would destroy worlds in their private battle.  
It depended on the day. Hell, sometimes the hour.

Right now, they were Hell-bent on destruction. 

“Fuck you, Farrokh,” Roger sneered.

“Excuse me, Blondie?” Freddie said sweetly.

Oh, Fuck. Brian and John looked at each other nervously. 

Freddie was instinctively pulling rank as the senior agent. Roger was bristling as the one with the most field experience. It was a pissing match for the ages, and Brian and John were caught in the middle.

It would have been one thing if it was over the mission or a specific assignment. But this was about a simple song lyric. 

Without fully realizing it, Brian and John got between the two would-be warriors. Even with his extremely limited tactical understanding, Brian knew why he turned to Roger and John turned to Freddie. Roger, for all his temper and bluster, respected that Brian had the least field experience and was, basically, a civilian thrown into this world. He would not hit Brian or even shove him unless truly provoked. He truly liked the tall scientist. 

And Freddie looked upon John as the little brother, even with knowing what John was capable of given certain conditions. Freddie was the one who protected John on and off stage. 

John had pointed out to Brian the strategic benefits of the situation long ago, accurately predicting the outcomes. Brian reflected that it was truly scary how John thought at times, but he none the less welcomed the ideas.

“Okay, new mission procedure,” Brian said sternly. At least he had confidence when it came to protocols. “Music is not up for violent debate, understood? We have to work together on this.”

There was some mumbling on both sides, but eventually Freddie and Roger made up….about 5 minutes later. They found a bar (they were officially off duty) and toasted their undying friendship until Brian and John drove them home.

“God save the Queen,” John muttered to Brian as Roger and Freddie passed out in the living room of their shared flat.

“God save Queen,” Brian agreed, making notes in the margin of his new science textbook.

***********************************************************************  
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PART THREE

The plan worked.

‘Queen’ performed for a year at various venues, gaining a steady fan base and reputation. Soon, the team was composing songs entirely on their own and record executives who had no idea who they were dealing with were interested in the young band. Of course, they were signed by the company of Beach’s friend, but nothing could appear to be too easy or unusual. ‘Queen’ worked hard for their record label and for their college classes.

They also had to continue training. Brian was introduced to the world of undercover science equipment and increased his self-defense classes, while John continued to excel with all his studies. Roger and Freddie had to keep up with all the field agent drills and practice as usual. All four were exhausted each day, but none were afraid of hard work; they had been raised to rise to expectations and were determined to succeed. 

During the first year, Freddie and Roger were able to do a surprising amount of field work at their gigs. They knew how to ask the right questions in any situation, and passed on a great deal of info about potential crimes or things overheard at assorted venues that were passed onto the appropriate officials. Roger muttered that it was all “domestic stuff”, but was still determined to show his worth. 

And he had started to like the rock drummer persona. Decadent Western lifestyle be damned, he was actually having fun, for really the first time in his life. It was something of a shock. He was also dangerously starting to like his teammates. Roger was suspicious about it, but after a year of usually seeing them every single day either for music or at a government building or training field, he still liked them. He had only been truly tempted to punch Freddie six times, and that was a true miracle, Bless his little communist heart.

Brian started to settle in a bit. He was burning the candle at both ends at times, now studying agent protocols and memorizing all sorts of codes and procedures in addition to science. And, of course, making music. But he loved it. He wrote songs incorporating science terms, and figured out a whole new musical code using certain notes and tones in place of letters that they could use. John was so excited about the electronic possibilities that he and Brian locked themselves in a sound booth with their guitars for a weekend and emerged with a truly unique code that withstood the efforts of the best code breakers to decipher it. It even incorporated certain vocals, making it truly sneaky. MI6 officially named it the ‘Royal’ code, and it was immediate made top secret. Besides the band, only a few senior agents at headquarters knew the cypher.

John also relaxed enough that the panic attacks decreased. It was odd how he could take on bar of drunks and clear the room without getting a single hair out of place or smudging his glam makeup, but he blushed and stammered when a female groupie tried to take him home one night. Brian, too, was rather shy about that, making Freddie and Roger sigh.

“It’s referred to as ‘duty demands’, dear,” Freddie said to Brian one night as they had drinks at the apartment. They were off-duty for a rare weekend and had all decided to just collapse and relax. 

Brian saw John blush to the tips of his ears, and he knew nothing good was going to come from this. “Ah….demands what, exactly?”

“Sex, of course,” Roger said, a bit too casually for Brian and John’s liking. “There are times you will have to have sex with someone as part of a cover. Seduction, if you will. The oldest trick in the books, but it still works.”

Brian blinked and looked to John for confirmation, who blushed even redder, and nodded. “Um….okay?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Freddie said, patting Brian’s knee. “It’s not that it won’t happen….it likely will. But try to think of it as business and stay calm. Sometimes its really not bad at all,” he grinned. “Ah, the things we do for crown and country.”

“Yeah!” Roger said, obviously trying now to cheer up Brian and John. “One time, in West Berlin, there were a pair of twins, and they did this thing where I had to---”

“I get it,” Brian said quickly.

“Twins?” Freddie sniffed. “Triplets in Spain,” he countered. Roger glared and slammed back a shot of vodka, ready as always to turn something into a competition.

“On a cruise ship on the Rhine river, in the captain’s bed, while he was steering the ship, with his mistress *and* her sister,” he threw out. “And I had to climb out the port hole.”

Freddie raised an eyebrow. “With a female tourist guide in Egypt, in an open tent around the corner of the Great Pyramid, while her clients were taking pictures of a baby camel.” He smirked. “Sand got in unexpected places.”

“Um, excuse me?” John actually held up his hand. “Are you talking about duty demands or just for, err, fun?”

“Both.” Roger and Freddie said at the same time. They clinked drinks in a toast.

And Freddie had become Freddie Fucking Mercury. And no one was going to stop the band now.


	2. Breakthoughs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian has some harsh things to consider as he enters field work. John needs a quiet place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had some unexpected free time to write before travel commences :-) Should be able to post one more chapter before I leave. Thank you SO much for the kudos, comments, and prompts/suggestions.

All things considered, Brian adjusted fairly well to his new life. Over the first year, he had a very steep learning curve, but Freddie and Roger took him under their wing, and ensured that Brian was able to concentrate on the music and eased him into the world of being an undercover agent. He was a horrible liar, and terrified that he would do something wrong, so Freddie and Roger took the forefront at controlling their cover and dealing with the public while John and Brian stayed in the background as much as possible. John still hadn’t gotten over his stage fright and it seemed he never would, but he knew how to listen and put things together. At parties, he and Brian stayed mostly quiet and then would pass on what they heard to Freddie and Roger and let the senior agents take point on what needed to be followed up.

Brian did enjoy a number of successes. No one doubted his intelligence and the music code he and John developed had been tested and proved. He calmly and quickly diffused a suspected bomb at one venue; it turned out to be fake, but still, Brian had stepped up without a pause and risked his life to determine it was a fake. He developed new field tests for possible poisons and explosives, all the while writing brilliant songs and learning to lead a double life.

Even when it was so hard for him.

He was a pacifist, and hated any violence. The one thing he had refused to do, with the support of his teammates, was to carry a gun. He reluctantly passed the required field scores and could break down any weapon given to him (and knew how to jam them as well). But he absolutely, positively, refused to carry.

And everyone supported him. Especially Freddie and Roger.

Roger was of the opinion that it was good Brian didn’t want to carry a sidearm. If he was uncomfortable, then so be it. It was good to keep him away from guns if he was nervous. Besides, Brian had made it clear that wasn’t against *fighting* or using some type of weapon when absolutely necessary. It had been a perfectly normal bar fight (not even mission related) and Roger had been having rather a lot of fun when Brian had come up from behind and kicked a would-be assailant In The Head. Damn those long legs. Then Brian calmly packed up his guitar but not before kicking someone else in the knee. Brian apologized to both men, but still, he had totally clocked them. Roger respected that, as did John, who had tied them up with some extra brass strings.

Freddie understood Brian more than the senior agent let on. Sometimes when they were alone, they would talk long and hard not about music, but about the double lives they led. Freddie had trained most of life for this work, but it was all new to Brian, and Freddie understood.

Including the most difficult question any agent had to face.

“I can’t….I don’t think I could ever…” Brian twisted his hands, looking down at his lap. They were alone in a MI6 office, going through a debriefing, and Freddie knew Brian was ready for this talk.

“Kill someone,” Freddie finished. Brian flinched, looking at Freddie with misery and the leader shrugged a bit. “My darling,” he said, putting an arm around the taller man and pulling him in for a hug. “Let me share something with you. At one point or another during a field recruit agent’s training, they will be asked, point blank, ‘can you kill someone’? It’s always phrased exactly that way, and it’s when the person least expects it. The only consistent is that it’s when they are alone with a senior trainer, and those are the exact words: can you kill someone? Not could you, should you, or would you. *Can* you? And you need to answer then and there.”

Brian’s eyes were a bit wide, and Freddie hugged him, making the guitarist look at him. “There are variations of what is considered the ‘right’ or proper answer. But there is no disagreement about what is considered the *wrong* answer. The wrong answer is ‘Yes’.” He let Brian think on that for a moment.

“Why is that the definite wrong answer?” Brian finally asked.

“Because murderers belong in prison. People with no emotions, no feelings, who answer yes to such a question without much thought are immediately sent to psychiatric help. We do this job to help people, Brian, for country and crown. We don’t do it to kill people.”

“But it happens sometimes.”

“Yes,” Freddie agreed calmly. “When all other options are gone. There’s another question all field recruits are asked: ‘*could* you kill someone?’ That answer is even more tricky and very personal. For many people, they would lay down their life for their family, friends, or their country. But it’s different when you are faced with the possibility of needing to *take* a life for your family, friends, or country. And it should be. Even for family and country; cold-blooded murderers have no place in our profession.”

Brian sighed, running his fingers through his now long hair in thought. “I don’t think I can,” he said finally.

“That’s alright,” Freddie assured him. “Bri, everyone knows your situation. You never wanted to be in the field, and you are doing it only because of this very unique mission. Don’t feel guilty or let it get to you. No one will ask you this question. I am going to be totally serious and honest; one day you may have to face that situation, and have to decide what to do. No matter what you choose, you will hate yourself. But do not let it eat you up. The reason we knew you were right for this mission was because of your moral compass. We need to you. Roger and I need you, and so does Deaky.”

Brian bit his lip, considering. He knew he would never ask any of his teammates if they had ever had to make that choice, thought he was pretty sure he knew the answer at least in Roger’s case. But he would never ask, and would never question it.

But he did wonder what their answers had been.

“Freddie?” Brian hesitated and then shook his head quickly. “No, never mind. I’m sorry, I have no right, I --”

“It’s alright,” Freddie smiled gently, knowing it was only fair to give his answer to the question that he had brought up. “I said that I thought I could, but only if it was the absolute last resort to save someone else. And then I cried for about 10 minutes at just the thought of it. My instructor held me while I bawled, and then took me out for drinks.” A fond look passed over Freddie’s face. “He’s a wonderful man. Landed at Normandy when he was just 17 years old, even younger than Deaky, believe it or not. He’s still training field recruits, making most of them cry and not because of the question but because of how tough he is. We keep in touch. Keeps trying to set me up with his daughter and while she’s lovely, I’m a bit afraid of her.” He winked at their scientist/guitarist. “Now, if he would give me permission to court his son, well then –”

“Freddie!” Brian rolled his eyes in laughter and shoved the singer away. 

“Actually, we should set you up with his daughter. I think you two would be just right for each other,” Freddie said, happy matchmaking plans already dancing in his head.

Brian looked rather horrified. “You are afraid of her, but want to set me up with her?”

"She won’t hurt you, darling. She would like you, I promise. I would suggest Deaky, but I think he would have a heart attack. But,” Freddie grinned. “I do think I know just the right girl for our Deaky. Want to play matchmaker? He may need some pointers. Maybe we can get one of Roger’s biology books—"

“Oh, God, Freddie!”

“No, really, he needs some help. Not that she isn’t capable of taking care of it herself, but she’s a friend, and I hate to make her do all the work. It just doesn’t seem fair.”

“I am not having this conversation,” Brian said firmly.

“No, wait! We really need to! For Deaky’s sake!”

*****  
*****

John was turning out to be a spectacular field agent, albeit a shy one. It was how he operated best, and all knew it. He put on a good face in public, but his three teammates could see the toll it was taking on him. Becoming a public, famous, person was killing him bit by bit. Like Brian, he had never planned to be a field agent in the public sense. He had wanted to stay mostly in a lab or in an operations room, managing logistics and technology and appearing in public only quietly and discretely. He knew he was being groomed for a management position and the field work was invaluable, but he simply wanted to die at how public it made him. John had wanted to be like Harold May, holding a boring, respectable public position, while working undercover. 

Instead, he was posing in his underwear for pictures and running from screaming fans. Beach had said that he could be the ‘quiet one’ in the band, and John damn well intended to hold him to that promise, just as soon as he figured out a way to do it.

Thank God for Freddie, Brian, and Roger.

And Veronica.

Freddie could lie like no one’s business, but when it came to his friends – his teammates – he would pull no punches. If he was going to set someone up, he would be honest about it. He knew John needed a safe place and it would take a very special lady to provide that for him.

“John, this is Veronica. Veronica, John. He’s the lovely chap I told you about.” Freddie beamed at John as they stood in the hallway of a MI6 building, John blushing in a completely mortified manner, and Veronica smiling sweetly. “Veronica is a teacher trainee.” This was true enough; no one needed to know yet exactly what Veronica was in training to teach (it involved lasers and missiles). “Now come on, we have reservations at a disco.”

John fell in love that night, though only Freddie knew it. Veronica took a bit longer….12 hours. Then she had to get pregnant to finally convince John to accept her proposal. But it all worked out. John had a quiet place and a home of their own to decompress and he could share his honest worries with his fellow MI6 agent and lead a reasonably quiet, private, life as much as possible. Veronica kept up her work even while juggling 6 children; she was amazing, and everyone knew it. John was just in awe that she actually let him touch her inappropriately, and he was eternally grateful to both Veronica and Freddie.

It wasn’t a cover. It wasn’t a set-up. It was true love on both sides, and everyone knew it. Freddie bawled at their wedding and Roger and Brian got drunk and asked Freddie to set them up as well, seeing how happy Veronica and John were. Freddie was obviously a genius and knew what he was doing. 

Brian and Roger gave Freddie a coffee mug with “World Greatest Matchmaker” embossed on it that the senior agent proudly kept at his messy desk at headquarters.

Freddie did eventually set up both Brian and Roger, and everyone was happy. Ironically, it was John, Roger, and Brian who set up Freddie with Jim, and they never let him forget it.


	3. Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a prompt by Nastyhobbit: “Brian tries to investigate his father's death, and when he asks too many questions, someone tries to silence him (hence the gangrene, hepatitis, ulcer”). It’s not exactly what you asked for, but I hope it’s okay!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the loooong delay. After a planned vacation I had an unplanned accident and spent some time in hospital. Ugh!

The medical staff was being assaulted on all fronts. Roger had already punched one male nurse and kicked a hole in two doors. John had set two freezers on fire (no one knew how he did it, and everyone was afraid to ask). And the staff was dealing with the force that was not just Freddie Mercury, but senior agent Farrohk Bulsara. 

Freddie more than anyone led multiple lives. There was Farrohk Bulsara the sensitive son. Freddie Mercury who was all drama and personality. And at the core, was the mixed duo of Farrohk/Freddie who – when combined - resulted in the deadliest, most powerful force in all of MI6.

“You fucking bastards!” Freddie shrieked. “I am going to kill everyone of you!”

The thing was, no one doubted that he could do it if he really wanted to.

James Beach had to physically hold Freddie back from killing a doctor. Then Beach had to help stop a fire that John had started in the vaccination clinic. Lastly, he had shoved Roger out of Brian’s hospital room where the blond was found strangling a doctor. 

James Beach had had to clean up many messes in his life, but nothing like this. In between stopping murders, he mourned in advance over the report he would have to write. 

*Agent Deacon threatened the medical staff with a vial of what he said was “fucking nasty poison that only he had the antidote for” and no one doubted his words. The effects of the poison is unknown. The threat was addressed with upmost seriousness. The entire area was evacuated. Note: Agent Deacon says he still has the “mixture” and refuses to divulge where it is located and the antidote*

“Agent Taylor attacked a total of 4 medical staff, resulting in a total of 2 broken arms, one broken nose, and 3 bruised ribs. He said he was “going easy” on them.*

“Agent Bulsara/Mercury punched two doctors, resulting in two broken noses and a combined total of 5 broken teeth.*

All because their beloved Brian, the closest thing to a civilian they had on the team, had been injected with an infected needle before they went to Australia.

There was no excuse. It was a violation of not just medical practice but of MI6 protocol. Assurances that the incident was under investigation resulted in no lenience. Freddie, Roger, and John were out to kill while their teammate fought for his arm and life in the medical ward.

“His father died!” Freddie screamed at Beach. “How do we know this is not connected?”

“There is no evidence,” Beach said tiredly. “It is marked highest priority for investigation. All signs point to a contagion in the lab, which is NOT an excuse, but at the same time, we can find no signs of a plot. We investigated his father’s death thoroughly and cannot find any connection.”

Roger picked up a chair and threw it against a wall, shattering it. Beach wearily made a mental note to add it to the damage report.

“Fuck your excuses! If anything happens to Brian, I’ll kill them all!”

“Already on it,” said John, a truly frightening look on his face. “Brian, Freddie, Roger and I have received the antidote. No promises on anyone else. Give me one good reason to not unleash it in the air vents right now.”

Jesus. Threats from John were the most terrifying of all, because you knew he meant them.

“Because Brian is in intensive care,” Beach said carefully. “And as much as there was an undeniable fuck up on the vaccinations, we have the best staff in Britain on the case now for the hepatitis and gangrene infection.” He looked at the three agents helplessly. “You know what Brian is to me,” he said with complete truthfulness. “I would never endanger him.”

Well, they knew that was true. Brian called Beach “Uncle James”. They knew the family connection.

“Is this really the best place for him to be?” Roger asked tightly. “What about other hospitals since this one has shown its fucking incompetence?” Freddie and John growled in support.

“We have called in the best specialists,” Beach assured them. “No regard for background checks. We have the best staff in Britain here now. Moving him is not…..preferred.”

Freddie stepped forward, senior agent mode completely on and utterly serious. “We know about your family connection,” he said tightly. “And we are willing to trust that you have Brian’s best interests at heart. But understand this; if anything happens to Brian, we are behind him and expect nothing but support from you and all of the program. If Brian loses his arm--“ Freddie could not bring himself to mention that Brian could still possibly lose his life – “then he gets whatever he wants. If he wants to continue “Queen’, that is his choice and we will never replace him. If he wants to retire to a lab and a life of research, then he does, and you support him 100%, as will we. If he wants to finish his PhD in astrophysics and be an ordinary university professor, you accept that as well. ‘Queen’ will be over if Brian doesn’t want to continue. We will not replace him. End of discussion.”

“Agreed,” Roger said, his eyes icy cold.

“Agreed,” John echoed.

Beach took a deep breath. “Agreed,” he said. 

*****  
*****

Brian made it, just barely. Then there were complications from an ulcer. But what made him rise and thrive was the support from his friends. His teammates.

“You told them it would be the end of Queen?” Brian asked, still a bit fuzzy on some details. He was having a difficult time reconciling all the time he had missed when drugged and recovering. 

“Fuck, yes,” Roger said darkly. “As if we would let it be otherwise.”

Brian looked at Freddie. “But all the work, the background,” he said weakly. He knew what had been involved. “There are lots of agents who can play guitar. I mean, I would have kept writing songs, if you wanted---”

“Shut up, darling,” Freddie said gently, giving Brian a drink from a straw. Both of Brian’s arms were still pretty much useless; his right arm swaddled in bandages from surgery and his left arm fitted with a huge IV needle. “We made a team decision and Beach agreed.”

“But—“

“No buts,” John said firmly. “It was going to be your decision, and we would support whatever you wanted, but the one thing is that we would not replace you.” 

“We’re family,” Roger said firmly. Brian had to blink a little at this. He knew that Roger defensively claimed to not have any family; it was his way of dealing with his childhood. To have him call anyone family was the biggest compliment he could possibly give.

“Family,” John agreed, and Freddie nodded.

“You are stuck with us, darling,” he teased lightly, and Brian had to smile.

“No place I would rather be,” he said.


	4. Revenge is a dish best served cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A combined prompt from Laura: (“this also makes sense of the Munich years: a perfect base for infiltrating East Germany and a revenge mission for Roger?”), and Nastyhobbit: (“I'd like to see Roger going off-mission to find out who killed his parents and why, at first all by himself because it's his business and his business alone, then the boys realize what he's doing and help him coz they're all in this together etc, then Roger kills the murderers one by one during their tours in different cities and using different methods”).

As the senior agent, Freddie had access to the team’s personnel files, containing so much info that John and Brian would surely blush themselves to death if they knew the extent. Freddie did his work and memorized everything, and then kept it completely to himself and never let it influence his actions in a negative way. 

As Queen grew more famous, he would act like a diva in public, making sure attention was on him, and then lie with smile about how he needed down time – it was really Brian who needed time to re-group after tours and/or missions. He would fake an illness or dramatic breakup to the press, and let John have time with his growing family while Freddie made sure that the press concentrated on him. 

He introduced Roger to the one person Freddie knew of who had had a childhood almost as dramatic as the drummer. Dominique knew quite a lot– she was an MI6 agent, after all, with security clearance almost as high as Queen’s – but not the key points about Roger’s past. Freddie knew that was only Roger’s story to tell. But he set them up on dates until they got it through their thick heads that they were perfect for each other. It wasn’t that Freddie thought misery loved company; he just knew Roger had a lot to deal with, and needed someone who could understand as much as possible and be there for the drummer when Freddie couldn’t. 

And sooner or later, the people who needed to know all the tiny details about Roger’s past would include the other two members of Queen.

Brian and John were far too polite and discrete to ever ask for details (they knew bits and pieces and rumor only), and Freddie had vowed to never speak of it until Roger was ready, so it was Roger who brought it up at one of their early meetings.

“I am not Roger Meadows Taylor,” Roger suddenly said one evening, about eight months after they had been assigned together. They were practicing in a MI6 studio, taking a short break. All of them were gathered around the coffee machine since it was nearly midnight and they had hours of practice to still go, and then attending classes in the morning as part of their various covers.

“Um….alright,” John said. “Can you please pass the sugar?”

Roger looked at him defiantly, but also passed the sugar. “You don’t want to know more?” he challenged.

Brian and John exchanged looks. They knew that Freddie would know everything since he was the senior agent, and by this point they trusted Freddie to let them know what they needed to know.

“Er…..do we need to know?” Brian ventured. He was getting better at the spy business, and was a growing master of understanding the need-to-know basis. 

“You might. Could make things easier,” Roger said, glancing at Freddie. Freddie, the flamboyant lead singer, who had an opinion on anything and everything, was not present in the room. It was only senior agent Bulsara, who was content to sit back and stay silent as his team shared info. Roger inclined his head in Freddie’s direction, understanding the silent go-ahead.

“Rodion Misahovick Petrenko, native-born citizen of the USSR, at your service,” Roger finally said, his tone and attitude completely defiant. 

They didn’t learn everything that night. No one did at any one time. But in the coming months Brian and John put pieces together quietly. One of the ultimate sacrifices in serving your country was putting your private life on full display for those in the need-to-know, and within a year Queen had few if any personal secrets anymore. Freddie knew them all, and he discreetly filtered what Beach and others needed to know.

Such as Roger’s kill list.

“I have a list,” Roger said. “I don’t know their exact names yet, but they are on my list.” They were at their still-shared home, two years after Queen had started performing. He obviously felt Brian and John had passed whatever sort of test was in his mind, and was now willing to tell the others.

And home was one of the few places where even Roger was satisfied that the chances of MI6 having listening devices was slim; John swept the area twice a day. Home was a safe place, where anything said was kept at home unless it would endanger a mission or another agent.

“A list of what?” Brian finally asked.

“People I am going to kill,” Roger said matter-of-factly. “The people who killed my parents.” 

By this time, Queen was a fully functioning, successful, band and MI6 operation. The time for any of the four to try and withhold information about their pasts was long gone, and all knew it. Freddie, Brian, and John knew all of Roger’s past and why he would say such a thing.

“How we will find their names?” John asked, without missing a beat. Brian blinked; of all the things, John was concerned only about how to get names? But even as that passed through his mind, he reflected on what he knew of Roger’s past, and even the pacifist in him reluctantly admitted he could not really argue with the blond agent over what he had decided. 

Then Brian registered that John had said “we”; how would *Queen* find the names of people who had killed Roger’s parents?

And Brian could not fault that assumption at all. They were a family now.

Roger allowed himself a tiny smile. “I’ve been working on that for nearly 20 years,” he said. “I am pretty sure I know who ordered the hits, and I can’t currently reach them. But nothing is stopping me from going after the people who did pull the triggers.”

“What do you propose?” Freddie asked, senior agent mode fully on.

“We need to go to Germany,” Roger said simply.

They all looked to John, their logistics expert in so many ways. The youngest agent nodded thoughtfully, clearly mentally scrolling through calendars and memos in his head. “It is very common for band to go to West Germany,” he agreed. He looked at Roger. “It may take multiple trips to get the intel we need,” he cautioned. Roger nodded.

“I know,” he said.

Everyone now looked to Freddie, or rather, Senior Agent Bulsara. Freddie regarding them all thoughtfully, not at all the flamboyant live-in-the-moment personality he presented to the world. He was the one who could approve or disapprove of this special side mission, or could turn Roger in to their superiors. Freddie sighed, looking at the Russian agent.

“You cannot go off on your own,” he finally warned, and everyone knew that Freddie’s tacit approval was coming. Roger visibly relaxed at the indication of approval.

“I will not,” he promised.

“You must keep all of us informed as to your intel,” Freddie cautioned. Roger nodded. “It cannot interfere with any official Queen missions.” Roger nodded again.

“And I will never endanger any of you. This is my personal business,” Roger vowed.

“Bit late for that,” John snorted, but he was perfectly calm and relaxed, clearly not bothered at all. “We are family now; this is all of our business.”

“All of ours,” Brian agreed. He saw the other three look at him, and just raised his chin. Two years on, he was still the fragile civilian in their eyes. Beloved, a vital quarter of the team, but still one who had not trained for nor anticipated this life. “I will help anyway I can,” he promised.

“As will I,” Freddie finally agreed. John nodded, and Roger - *Rodion*- had to honestly pause before he found words.

“Thank you,” he said.

*****  
It took a number of years, of course. It was not easy to untangle the truth from nearly 20 years earlier, especially when you needed Russian, East German, West German, and British intel. There were starts and stops. Promising leads that led nowhere, and tips that were lost. But in the end, nearly 15 years after his announcement to the young band in England, Roger made a casual comment one sunny afternoon.

They were gathered with spouses, children, and friends at a pool party. A rare, wonderful, warm summer day in the mid-1980’s. In all the commotion, Roger found a moment to pass by his friends.

“My list is done,” he said simply. They all knew what it meant.

Roger did the critical things on his own, but he could not have done it without help. John and Brian brushed up on their German and Russian and proved perfect at asking innocent questions….and listening for not-so-innocent answers. John spent hours going over old files, and Brian made perfect initiative leaps to connect the dots. Freddie went “off the rails” in Munich, only to return with valuable information. Queen tapes were prime bootleg in the USSR, and much information was gathered from dozens of people asking a simple question in return for handing over recordings.

And if Jim Beach became aware of some things, he never mentioned it. Queen was no longer a simple operation or assignment. It was family. The mothership. 

And they took care of their own.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a combed prompt from Laura: (“I’d love to see Brian’s first steps in ‘fieldwork’ of the James Bond seduction kind as he would be totally rubbish at it). And from just-me (“I'd love to see Brian having to make the choice if he can actually kill someone. I live for angst and emotional turmoil and I really loved the conversation he and Freddie had”).

Brian didn’t really remember when he had put all the pieces together and realized exactly what his father had done for a living. It had come slowly, bit by bit, a hint here and a hint there. His father being gone for oddly long periods of time for a basic civil servant. Phone calls during the middle of the night; his father having to cut short vacations, leave in the middle of parties for ‘work’.

And after his father’s death, when Brian was just 13, things began to come into focus. A friend of his Dad’s, who Brian had never met before, driving the teenager to and from school. Another friend of his Mum’s suddenly moving in with them, and staying for nearly two months to help his Mum, but who also kept a firm eye on Brian, watching the house day and night with a gun.

And slowly, James Beach, Brian’s godfather, let hints drop. There wasn’t a sudden ah-ha moment, but by the time he went to university, Brian understood quite a lot.

“I’d like to study science and technology,” Brian said to James as they celebrated the results of Brian’s secondary school exams. He could have his pick of universities and study any number of subjects. Finances, he had been assured by Uncle James, were not an issue.

“That’s wonderful,” James approved.

“I want to help people,” Brian continued.

Uncle James nodded. “Very admirable.”

Brian took a sip from his drink. “Even better if I help people who did jobs like my Dad,” he added.

James Beach just nodded again. “That would be perfect,” he agreed.

“I love my country,” Brian added.

“Good,” Beach noted.

“And I want to work for my Queen and country,” Brian said, not quite daring to look at his godfather, but knowing his words would be noted. “Like my Dad.”

Beach nodded and laid a hand on Brian’s shoulder. “That will be arranged,” he promised.

So Brian went off to university, planning to study science, likely get his doctorate, and then spend his life in a lab, serving his Queen and country. He was happy and very settled in that career path. He envisioned a happy academic life, clocking in and out at the labs, doing research, and quietly - but most definitely - helping agents. 

Until music bit him in the ass.

Queen. How ironic. When years later Freddie mussed why Beach had allowed them to give the group that name, Brian just looked innocent and said nothing.

He loved music. One of his fondest memories of his Dad was building the Red Special with him. And the day he was called into his godfather’s office and told to join a rock band ranked as one of the stressful among Brian’s life. Sure, he liked to play, but he didn’t really compose. He wanted to work for MI6, but as a scientist and not as a spy. He had no idea what to do.

Thank God for the rest of the team.

Freddie and Roger, who had basically been born being active agents, took point on the early missions. Deaky had never intended to be much in the open field, but when faced with the challenge, he had sucked it up and did his best, which was damn good by any measure. Brian always felt he had the most in common with John, and the bassist/fellow scientist felt the same. A lot of their early bonding occurred over them being stressed while Roger and Freddie were being crazy. Once they were touring, Brian and John shared a room, leaving the two field agents to their wiles. John and Brian once woke up to Roger picking the lock so he could climb back into *their* hotel window, with Freddie carrying what appeared to be an unconscious body behind him.

Neither Brian nor John asked any questions, but they did drink a lot the next day and were pretty hung over at their show. To their credit, the two senior agents never said a word and the whole matter was off limits.

Brian had never intended to be an active agent in any way, shape, or form. He was the odd-ball in the Queen family, chosen basically for his looks, music ability, and the fact he was essentially born into the business and thus had a file. But he hadn’t been born to be a field agent. He wanted a nice, quiet, science career, just like what Deaky had wanted.

And here they were posing in their underwear and running from screaming fans.

And Brian had to have several long, hard, talks with Freddie, Roger, and John to accept it.

But then John, his science bro, his non-agent soulmate, had the audacity to fall in love, get someone pregnant, and then get married. Leaving Freddie and Roger - and Brian - as the Queen resident duty demands options.

Sometimes, Brian wanted to smack that smirk right off Deaky’s face. (No, not really. Brian was a pacifist, and loved John as a little brother and would never hurt the bassist. But he was still pretty pissed at times).

It was all well and good seeing as how Freddie and Roger were more than delighted to take on duty demands affairs. But Brian knew that he scientifically appealed to a certain odd demographic (who liked them tall and dorky), and one day he would likely have to man up.

And in more ways than one.

Such as taking a human life. 

He had not chosen to be a field agent. He had neither the personality, background, training, not inclination to be one and to have to be in a position to possibly take a human life. He couldn’t take animal lives, let alone human. He often thought of his talk with Freddie early in Queen musical and spy career, when Freddie had admitted that a question every agent faced was the issue if they could take a human life.

*************************************************************************************  
“We do this job to help people, Brian, for country and crown. We don’t do it to kill people.”

“But it happens sometimes.”

“Yes,” Freddie agreed calmly. “When all other options are gone. There’s another question all field recruits are asked: ‘*could* you kill someone?’ That answer is even more tricky and very personal. For many people, they would lay down their life for their family, friends, or their country. But it’s different when you are faced with the possibility of needing to *take* a life for your family, friends, or country. And it should be. Even for family and country; cold-blooded murderers have no place in our profession.”

Brian sighed, running his fingers through his now long hair in thought. “I don’t think I can,” he said finally.

“That’s alright,” Freddie assured him. “Bri, everyone knows your situation. You never wanted to be in the field, and you are doing it only because of this very unique mission. Don’t feel guilty or let it get to you. No one will ask you this question. I am going to be totally serious and honest; one day you may have to face that situation, and have to decide what to do. No matter what you choose, you will hate yourself. But do not let it eat you up. The reason we knew you were right for this mission was because of your moral compass.”  
********************************************************************************

Brian had done his best to put that conversation aside; he would not forget it, of course, but he also didn’t want to dwell on it until he had to.

He had enough other things to deal with first, such as handing weapons. He absolutely loathed guns. Fortunately, the other three supported him, understanding his opinions, and he was not required to carry one. But as an active MI6 field agent, he still had to train with them. Brian could not fault the theory; he was around weapons, and needed to be familiar with them, in case he ever had to use them (or jam them, which he much preferred). Still, his hands shook every time he went to the range and loaded up a new weapon. 

John, of course, had a perfect, eminently logical, solution. 

“Get perfect scores during a marksmanship test,” he counseled Brian one afternoon. “Then you don’t have to handle them as much or test as much.”

So, one weekend Brian checked out a weapon and spent two days straight at the firing range. He hated it, but was determined. John stopped by, and they decided to take a simple, logical, science attitude about it. It was all just velocity and vectors, after all. Geometry, really. Planes and angles. Brian could handle that. He practiced and practiced, and when he was ready, he took tests on all the available sidearms.

Brian knew that his scores were part of his official file and that Freddie had access to it. Other than one raised eyebrow at an official MI6 meeting, Freddie had never commented on it.

But word got around from a few instructors, asking Brian if he wanted to train with the sharpshooters. He ran away.

Uncle James heard about it, and ensured that Brian was never asked to be a sniper again. 

*****  
*****

Two years later…..

America. Of course, it was America, Brian thought. New York City, to be precise. Naturally. He liked America, he really did, but like most Europeans, he simply could not fathom the American love for their guns. 

But at least it meant that as Brian ran down alleyways, jumping over garbage cans, and banishing his issued handgun, no one spared him a second look except to get out of his way. That was helpful, especially when Brian had to re-load while running and he was really quite clumsy and didn’t have time to stop and help someone up if he knocked them over.

Roger needed him, after all.

He rounded a corner and skidded to a halt in time to see the suspect somehow disarm Roger and then whirled around as Brian arrived. Roger was grabbed and posed with a gun to his head.

“Leave! Or he will die!” the suspect shouted. Brian knew enough about their suspect to know that the man would have no problems killing anyone. He raised his weapon in return.

Roger and the suspect were trading insults in either Bulgarian or Ukrainian; they were both so similar to Russian that Brian had a hard time telling them apart. Roger was also sending Brian clear eye messages.

*Do not put down your weapon. Shoot him. We can’t let him get away* Even if it meant that Roger could die.

“I mean it,” their target continued yelling. “He will die if—”

Brian shot him.

In the elbow that held the gun, making the man drop his weapon, which then slid safely away. Then a second shot 1.5 seconds later landed perfectly in the assassin’s left knee, at an angle that missed Roger’s legs entirely, ensuring he couldn’t run away.

Roger was perfectly fine, looking at Brian with new respect. “Damn,” Roger said simply after he had punched the assassin out.

There was a pounding of feet and Freddie arrived, followed by John, who had been delayed contacting the FBI agents they had left behind. “Well,” Freddie drawled a first glance, summing up the scene. Then his eyes landed on their blond drummer. “Roger! What have you done now? Do you mean to tell me that this idiot got the drop on you?”

“Sod off, Freddie,” Roger snapped. He was beyond embarrassed. 

“You made Brian shoot him! How could you be so reckless?”

Roger kicked the body. “He’s still alive! Get off my back.” The blond looked at Brian. “Brilliant shots, by the way. Thank you.” He then turned back to Freddie. “Shut up, Bulsara!”

“You shut up!” Freddie screamed back.

“You’re welcome?” Brian managed, shock beginning to sink in. He had shot a man. He could have killed Roger.

Fortunately, John got Brian quickly to work securing the scene and the assassin while Freddie and Roger continued to snap at each other.

*****

Six hours later…..

Roger was pissed that Brian had arrived too late to see the move that the assassin had used to overpower the drummer – he wanted to know it, and practice how to counter act it.

Freddie was pissed at Roger had been overpowered and made Brian shoot a person.

Roger suggested that Freddie shoot himself. Freddie screamed that his grandmother could beat Roger in an arm-wrestling match. They went down to the gym to fight it off before one of them pulled a gun on the other.

Which left Brian and John to clean up all the loose ends. Like paperwork.

They never showed that part in the James Bond films. Anytime an agent pulled a sidearm, there were forms in triplicate. Even more so when a suspect was shot. Brian had helped Freddie and Roger fill them out before, even accepted bribes to fill forms out for them, but had never had to fill one out for himself. 

He didn’t like it.

“Almost half way done,” John said, trying to be supportive.

“God.” Brian closed his eyes, trying to shake out a hand cramp. “I think I need reading glasses.”

John reached into his bag and pulled out two sets. “I buy them in bulk,” he said dryly. “Good job by the way, in case our resident idiots don’t mention it.”

Brian looked down at the papers, accepting a pair of glasses. “I didn’t think; just reacted,” he said.

“That’s good,” John approved. “Shows your practice and training kicked in, which is what everyone wants. There’s a reason we do those drills over and over again. Makes it easier.”

Brian glanced at the bassist over the tops of his new glasses. “And the reason for all this paperwork?” All he wanted to do was go to their hotel and hide under the covers, but his sense of duty kept him at the borrowed FBI office.

John, the all but royally anointed heir to MI6 command, leaned back in his chair. “The official reason, or the real reason?”

Anything for a break. “Both reasons,” Brian decided. 

“Officially, we must be responsible for all actions. Proper procedure must be followed out, and documented while the incident is fresh in all minds.” John sighed a little. “The real reason is that it gives a cooling off period, and something to focus on other than the fact you just shot a man.”

Brian grimaced. “Yeah, that’s good,” he admitted. He would take paperwork any day over reflecting over what he had done.

“It’s a good system,” John insisted. “Vetted by dozens of psychologists.” He pushed a tray toward the tall guitarist. “Plus, you get extra tea and cakes.”

“Oh, well, in that case…..” Brian knew he would not forget the trauma, and prayed he would never have to take the next step and kill someone. But he knew it might happen. And if it did, he would have his brothers for support.

Well, at least John. Roger and Freddie were – by all accounts – still going at each other.

“Why are they so pissed?” Brian asked, getting mentally ready for form 1934-A-D-31b.

“Roger is beyond embarrassed that he was over taken, and pissed at himself that he made you get into the position where you had to take a shot. Freddie is mad at Roger that you had to take a shot. Neither of them will back down. You should be prepared for some serious comfort and mother-hen attention from Freddie, and massive guilt from Roger.” John looked at Brian seriously over the top of his own glasses. “I warn you; no one does guilt like a Russian. Take advantage of it. He will offer to do your laundry, make your bed, and chew your food for you for at least two weeks. You will never have this opportunity again. Use it.”

Brian pondered his options while he tackled the next pile of forms. About an hour later, Freddie and Roger finally joined them.

“Brian!” shirked Freddie. “Surely these forms can wait. Let me get you back to the hotel and in a nice warm bath.”

“I found four places in New York that offer vegetarian food,” Roger said, pushing past Freddie. “Got them all on speed dial and ready to deliver for the rest of our visit. You need to eat! I already placed an order.”

“He needs a bath to relax,” Freddie snapped.

“He needs to eat before he faints!” Roger yelled back.

Brian glanced at John as the two senior agents resumed fighting. “How many forms if I shoot them both to shut up?”

“Too many. Not worth it.”

“Damn.”

**Author's Note:**

> STORY and AUTHOR NOTES: Future chapters will be random snapshots/time-jumps of various scenarios and adventures in this universe. Some hints: why did Freddie change costumes so often during shows? Sending messages, darling. Roger’s drum solos? Morris code, of course!
> 
> **I am travelling for the month of July so I likely be able to update until I return, but I promise that I WILL continue this story!**
> 
> Prompts Welcome! If you have an idea for a case/scenario/etc…please send on and I will be happy to try to incorporate it 😊 
> 
> CHARACTER NOTES:
> 
> Freddie is James Bond, Napoleon Solo (“The Man from U.N.C.L.E”), and Kelly Robinson (“I SPY”) all rolled into one.
> 
> Roger is both Napoleon Solo & Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin (“The Man from U.N.C.L.E.”) – with a temper - and Kelly Robinson (“I Spy”) – also with a temper.
> 
> Brian is Alexander Scott (“I Spy”) and Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin - without a temper.
> 
> John is future ‘Q’ and/or ‘M’ in training (James Bond universe), Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin, & Alexander Scott – sometimes with a temper.
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Man_from_U.N.C.L.E.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Spy_(1965_TV_series)


End file.
